At the edge of the room, Yardem started and blinked, his ears flat against his head.
“I see,” Geder said, the syllables gentle as a fawn. His eyes filled with tears that he wiped away with the back of one hand. And then, a moment later, “I understand. Thank you.”
He rose to his feet, and his father came forward. The elder Palliako’s face drew a picture of regret and resolve. “Are you well?”
“I think,” Geder said, his voice artificially calm, “it might be better if I could stay here tonight? I don’t think I want to go back to the Kingspire right now. And if it’s not too much, will you stay? Will you all stay too?”
“Of course,” Lehrer said. “You never have to ask.”
“Thank you, Da.”
They embraced. A tear tracked down Lehrer’s cheek. For a moment, Cithrin wondered what it was like to have a mother or a father who would take you in no matter what you had done. It was here before her, and she still couldn’t imagine it. When they parted, Geder could not look in his father’s eyes. His hands were at his sides in fists, his face dark. His lips moved as he talked to himself, too quietly for her or any of them to hear, and he shook his head.
“You are the only one who can stop them.”
His eyes found her like he was peering through a fog. “What?”
“You can stop them. You’re the only one who can put an end to this. Call them together, all of them. A conclave like the Council of Eventide, only for the priests. You can tell them it’s because of the rise of the apostates. It won’t be telling them the whole truth, but it won’t be lying.”
“And then what?” Geder said.
Kit cleared his throat. “There is a play called The Archer King. The king, betrayed by his ministers and lords, calls them all together for a triumph, then locks the doors of the common house and floods it.” The actor shook his head. “The nearest convenient river would be in the depths of the Division, of course. So I can’t recommend that.”
Geder didn’t speak for a moment. When he did, his words were cool. “We’ll find something.”
Clara Kalliam left shortly after Geder and Lehrer Palliako retired. Staying away until daybreak would, she said, excite comment, and she’d already done more than enough of that for the time being. The players and Master Kit went to the servants’ quarters where there were cots enough for them all. Lehrer Palliako’s hospitality meant that Cithrin had her own bed in a small chamber of its own that opened into a narrow courtyard of ivy and lilac, an honored guest in the house of her enemy. A thin mesh over her window let in a breeze thick with the scent of the flowers and, beneath that, of the city. Perfume and shit. She didn’t take off her dress, only lay on the mattress and pretended that sleep would come.
Her gut was a single knot, hard as stone. Her body was wretchedly tired. She trembled with it. But each time she closed her eyes, her mind sped away from her—where was Geder now, what was he thinking, would destruction of the priests mean her own transgression against his pride would be forgotten, what would she do if he came to her chamber now in the night—and without noticing when it had happened, she realized her eyes were open again.
Outside, birds that had been silent began their raucous choir. She saw no sign of the coming dawn, but they did. She forced her eyes closed again, again found them open, and surrendered to the inevitable. Even if she’d had enough wine to bring her down to sleep, it was too late to begin it now. And in her present situation, she wouldn’t have. Miserable or not, she needed her wits. She rose, washed her face in the basin, combed out her hair, and prepared herself as best she could to face the new day and the dangers she’d created for it. When she opened the door to the hall, ready to call for a servant to bring her food or else lead her to it, Marcus Wester was waiting. He sat with his back against the wall opposite her door, the poisoned blade on the floor beside him. His hand rested on its hilt.
“Captain?”
“Magistra,” he said, and the tone of his voice made it half a joke.
“Are you… all right? What are you doing?”
“The job, as I understand it,” he said, levering himself up with a grunt. As he rose, she caught a glimpse of his shoulder where the sword usually rested. The skin there was red and peeling as from a sunburn. “With the present factors at play, I thought having one of our guard outside your room was literally the least we should do. I also considered killing our hosts and slipping out the back, but it seemed rude.”
“Have you been here all night?”
“No,” he said, brushing his sleeves with open palms. “Yardem took first watch. I caught a little sleep.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“We’re good.”
Outside, the birds all went silent at once, then burst forth again even louder. Marcus glanced down the hall, one way and then the other. When he spoke, his voice was low and disapproving. “I saw what you did back there.”
“Back where?”
“With the Lord Regent.”
Cithrin’s mouth pressed thin and she nodded back toward her room. Marcus followed her through it and out to the little courtyard. The sky had gone from black to charcoal. A single high cloud held a delicate pink color. The lilacs nodded in the little breeze like holy men sprinkling blessings out over a crowd, filling the air with a sweetness that was almost cloying. Marcus found a low stone bench and sat. Cithrin crossed her arms.
“How does this go?” Marcus said. “In your head, how does it play out? Everyone comes and gives Palliako a hug and rubs his little belly and suddenly he’s our dog? Is he going to come running when we whistle now?”
“I’ve given him the chance to look at his world from a different perspective,” Cithrin said. “What happens next depends on what he sees.” Weariness sharpened the words more than she’d intended. It felt as though she’d spent her life with all her decisions being questioned by Marcus Wester. He could afford to have a little more faith in her. More than that, she wished she’d rested as well in her bed as he had in her hallway.
“You played him as much the fool as the spiders have. Damned near drowned him with how much everybody liked him,” Marcus said. “Everyone there touching his shoulder and taking him in their arms and smiling at him like he’s always been their favorite.”
“Love is what he wanted. What he still wants. I only pointed out that we are a way it could be supplied.”
“But we aren’t. The truth is everyone in that room hates that man. We’d each of us have thrown him off a bridge if there was a way to.”
“Not everyone,” Cithrin said. “His father was sincere.”
“And what happens when someone lets slip? Geder Palliako’s head is a bag of snakes. If he decides we’re the one plucking his strings—”
“Then we’re very nearly no worse off than we were before we came,” Cithrin said. “We’ll die a bit sooner, and the world we leave behind won’t be worth living in anyway.”
His half-coughed laughter surprised her. “Well, that’s true enough, I suppose.”
“Here’s how it plays out. Geder does as he has always done. He sees that he’s been made a fool of by the priests. He gets angry about it, has them all brought together, and we kill them.” She spread her hands.
“It won’t work.”
“It will,” she said. “Geder’s predictable. Yes, we’ll need to be careful with him, but we have the thing he needs, and he will trade it for it. Love for dead priests. This will—”
“That’s not the hole in it.” The little rosy cloud had faded to white. The grey sky had brightened into blue. She could see Marcus’s face better now, the lines and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. The yellowed ivory of his eyes. “You say you can have him call the dinner bell and have the priests come running, and so I believe you can. Makes me nervous as hell, but anyone else’s battle plan besides my own has that effect. The problem’s the trap.”